Tension and Thrill
by Art Is Dead
Summary: Arthur knows of Merlin's greatest secret, and Merlin wants to share the experience of his abilities with his closest friend. However, when the young sorcerer makes a critical mistake during a time-travel spell, the pair ends up in vastly unfamiliar territory.
1. Chapter 1

Thunder and footsteps clap noisily together. Their disharmony is deafening and distressful, and the icy rain that roars outside the parapet walk is like blistering fire, but it continues to pour. Hot breath mirrors mist but dissipates quickly, only to return with each airy pant. It is fast and sudden when boots slide to a determined halt, and the clumsy feet inside nearly betray their body and topple. However, steadfast loyalty to purpose proves a strong opponent to the threat of gravity. Therefore, it is with privileged and ecstatic glory that nimble hands push open the decorated wooden door to the threshold of royal chambers.

Spiteful indignation greets the young sorcerer with a look of malice. "Merlin, you do realize that doors are made for knocking on, right?"

"Sorry," a sheepish retort hung with exhausted pants.

"Oh, well pardon for my rudeness if you're so 'sorry' about it," mocking words exclaimed, "now what is it you want? I was about to lay down to rest."

"Well, uh."

"Come on Merlin, spit it out. You're wasting my time."

"Right. Well I've been practicing this spell..."

"Oh, here we go."

"Hear me out! I think it would be a lot of fun."

A look of idle trepidation and inquisitiveness swimming in cool blue eyes suggested weary curiosity. A crack of lightning illuminated the room with striking electricity, adding effect to the expression painted on the prince's face. "All right. What is it, Merlin?"

A look of amusement crossed the younger of the two. His cerulean eyes sparkled with the dance of firelight, and his grin spread until his clean white teeth shone.

"What? What's with that look?"

"Time travel."

"What?"

"Time travel. Don't you want to try it? You know you've thought about it before. Imagine what it's like. The future. The past."

Hostile disbelief unhinged the blond's tight jaw. His light brows furrowed slowly, as if he were distracted by thought. "That's impossible," he muttered, tense body frozen by perturbation loosening until he regained the ability to move, to which he dismissed the proposal with a fleeting swipe of a skilled hand.

"But it's not!" Merlin insisted, "I've practiced on objects, and it works! I've placed books days in my future and found them in the same spot at the _exact _time I asked for. It really works. I think I'm ready to travel myself, but I didn't want to go without you."

"Oh, you _think_, do you? You know what I _think_? I think this is absurd, and you've gone mad. We can't time travel, Merlin. What if something goes wrong?"

"But it won't!" the warlock insisted, his head shaking enthusiastically as if to reinforce his point, "I promise."

Interest dipped in to the blue waters of Arthur's chilly eyes. His curiosity battled with blinding reason until finally his expression hardened. Defeated, Merlin's icy cobalt hues magnetized to the floor. "Fine. I'll go by myself," turning on his heel, he began a discouraged tramp toward the chamber door.

Only seconds passed before an objection rose with a demoralized tone.

"Wait."

An inevitable smile stretched across the younger boy's face, He pivoted once more, greeting his master with a look of satisfaction.

"Where would we go?"

"Wherever you'd like. Though I think the future's more interesting, don't you?" persuasiveness added height to his words. He lifted his brows in patient expectation.

"...I suppose you're right."

"So we'll go?"

"Not just yet, Merlin. I thought you sorcerers couldn't manipulate time. What's changed?"

"Oh, that's an easy one. I looked in to the crystal."

"The crystal. That clarifies everything, thank you. _What crystal?_"

"The crystal of Neahtid. It gave me some power over time."

"Oh, and I'm supposed to do this because some sparkly jewel gave you powers?"

Merlin thought a moment, then nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that's pretty much the deal."

"Very reassuring."

"Are you going or not?"

A silence embraced the air and overcame it with a wave of dangling tension. Arthur leaned forward to grip the edge of his table, using it for support. His head slumped, resting between his shoulders limply, as if lifeless. Merlin passively observed his master's stance, the glow of his blue eyes lightly touching hunched shoulders. His fleeting concentration was broken with a deep sigh.

"When do we leave?"

A vast smile curled the ends of Merlin's lips. He met cool blue eyes which created an icy fire with his own, and replied calmly, "we could leave now."

"Right now?" Arthur protested, "Shouldn't we make an excuse for being absent first?"

The warlock shook his head, replying plainly with, "No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

"We can come right back to now. Or five minutes ago," he grinned, "there's no point."

"...All right, that's fair. And you swear you'll get us back?"

"I swear," Merlin replied with a winning smile, "when do you want to go to?"

Arthur paused. The air felt delicate, as if it were a wine glass dangling precariously from a thread as red as death. He had a tendency to regard each decision he made with a sense of seriousness, but the fragility of this tense moment almost made it hard to breathe. How far in his future did he want to see? Surely, to be safe, not too far. A low number of years would satisfy his servant, then they could go back.

"Six years from now."

"You got it," Merlin offered his hand to Arthur, to which he questioningly took, and began a low chant in a foreign language. Once striking blue eyes glowed a powerful auburn, their hues like fire. Merlin's voice grew louder, and Arthur had been tempted to hush him for fear of being caught, but was quickly robbed of the chance.

He felt as though the wind was knocked out of him. Dully aware of his twisting and convulsing body, his mind raced, filling with a thunderous hum. It became hard to intake air, and he was reduced to near hyperventilation. Feeling himself being pulled this way and that was maddening, and he closed his eyes to the blinding rushes of color and light around him. Each limb tingled, and the current of time's substance seemed to halt to an eerie calm. A ringing pierced his ear drums, and he felt the twinge of an oncoming headache in his forehead. His hand was empty, indicating that him and Merlin had been separated. A slap of lightning came from not so far away. It was still raining. He was outside, he knew now, and laying upon cold, wet cobblestone. Droplets kissed the pale skin of his face.

"Arthur."

"Hm?" he muttered, eyelids fluttering drowsily.

"Arthur, get up."

His eyes slowly came open to find Merlin leaning over him, a shallow gash on his cheek trickling blood. An expression of fear had gripped his fair features. Arthur sat up, distressed by the warlock's frightened stare.

"I messed up."

"What do you mean you _messed up?_ Where are we?"

"I don't know," was the dismissive reply he received. Merlin looked around, gazing in to a tall torch above their heads which threw an orange glow upon the dark ground beneath them. It seemed to hang from its post, a feature he had never seen before, and appeared almost artificial. There was no dance of flame, but the light came anyways. "I took us too far."

"Well take us back!"

"Okay," he hastily retorted. His hand found Arthur's once more, and he helped the prince to stand, beginning a new spell. With his eyes closed in concentration, Arthur couldn't be sure if they had glowed the same as before.

The muttering ceased. They hadn't moved, both could tell, but Merlin's eye cracked open as if to be sure. Confirming his suspicions, he tried again.

His efforts were to no avail.

"...I can't," he whispered, a thick, sorrowful remorse in his voice, "My magic. It's gone."


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin's bleary eyes appeared to quake. His hands, balling repeatedly in and out of a tight fist, finally rested to a fragile net. His tunneled vision focused strictly on the intertwined fingers resting between his spread knees. The rain had refused to recede, forcing showers of ice to pelt down and chill the cobblestone. The sky erupted in a cry of electricity; luminous blue serpents tore apart black clouds mercilessly. Bumps had risen across his skin hours ago and chiefly still they remained, pressured to dwell a little longer by the droplets which hung from his damp hair and nose. Those same droplets threatened wordlessly to freeze to his skin, sending a shiver with the power to destroy him from the inside out raking through his nerves. The suffocating blackness of the night crept upon him like predator to prey. His blue eyes searched his surroundings and found nothing. The nothingness, however, greeted him as a friend; the hollowness it carried like a crushing weight was familiar enough.

Susurrous sheets of rain whispered carelessly. The sweet song it murmured in quiet comfort would only be interrupted by the occasional growl of nefarious thunder, for even the shallow breath which kept Merlin alive seemed mute. It was only until his remorseful thoughts were interrupted by a faint rustling sound that his attention returned to the reality around him.

"What are you doing?" a faint voice, plagued by the harm of pity murmured.

For a short moment the rustling had ceased, as if hesitant. A tension disturbed the quiet between the two of them. The fragile air hung delicately, perched on the edge of an unforgiving cliff. However, as quick as the daunting calm had come it then passed, for Arthur had settled upon the ground comfortably, the skin of his cheek pressed to the cobblestone.

Merlin sighed, his shoulders slumping dramatically. "Look, I'm sorry. I know that there's nothing I could really say to make any of this better, including any sort of apology, but I wanted to let you know that I apologize. It was a stupid mistake. I thought I had fixed things, so that this wouldn't happen, but I was wrong. Okay? Is that what you'd like to hear? I messed up. Bad. But I'll find us a way back, I promise."

Arthur rose slightly, resting to a lean on his outstretched forearm. His once warm, compassionate eyes burned like hot fire. "It's not so much that we're destitute in a foreign time period," he started, "and that we're surrounded by unfamiliarity. It's that you knew, Merlin. You knew this was going to happen, but you ignored what you'd seen and did as you pleased regardless."

"I thought I had changed that."

"Well you thought wrong."

"Sometimes..." the blistering flames of those cold eyes brought hot tears to his own. He inhaled sharply, hoping to will them away, "sometimes I can change what I see inside the crystal, okay? If I play my cards right, I can get things to happen differently. This felt like one of those things."

"I don't want to hear it, Merlin."

With nothing left to say, the young warlock did as he had been. His jaw clenched until his mouth felt sewn shut. The blood in his cheeks felt like it was boiling, but the only thought in his head was that he had failed his prince. It was his fault that they were there, it was his fault that they had no way back.

Somewhere in the distance and through the veil of rain came a piercing noise, one powerful enough to rattle Merlin from his trance and Arthur from his sleep. The prince's shoulders stiffened, and his head snapped from side to side, eyes scanning their surroundings tirelessly. "What was that?"

"I'm not sure," replied Merlin, who also took to searching the area around them, "some kind of bell, perhaps?"

"I don't think so," Arthur shook his head haphazardly, his light brows pulled together in concentration, "if it was a bell then where's the resonance?"

Merlin shrugged, now on his feet as well as the other.

"I'll go look."

"Arthur, no. I already feel bad enough about bringing us here, if anything were to happen to you I would never forgive myself. I'll go."

"And what defense do you have? Your magic's gone. How do you expect to fight should you have to? Are you going to bore them to death with your incessant talking?"

"...We'll both go."

The blonde appeared to agree, for he motioned for Merlin to follow after him whilst stealthily stalking toward the noise. The alleyway which they had sought refuge in was bleak and dreary, but it shielded them from the world outside that felt far too unusual for them to feel comfortable in. Now, as they tiptoed toward the main road, where the moonlight wasn't so suffocated by black clouds, and where steady light poured unto the ground from the same buildings they sat against just minutes before. A sense of trepidation in its purest form seemed to rise with each step they made, and before long its peak was reached when they had finally met the doorway to the open world. All seemed quiet enough, save for a few others walking aimlessly across the pavement. Arthur's shoulders relaxed, a held breath escaping his lips. Merlin did similar, but his eyes still searched as if he were on guard. His hair clung to his forehead with cool rain and nervous sweat, and he was sure that Arthur's had done the same.

"See? There's nothing. All's well," Arthur argued, mainly with himself, as he took a few careless steps into the road.

Two white, parallel lights filled the air around them in a flash and made Merlin's eyes burn. Instinct told him to grab for Arthur, but when he discovered that the prince wasn't within arm's reach, the heavy weight of panic which he had just seemed to get rid of returned tenfold. It didn't take long to find the stunned-stiff royalty, and he lunged forward to retrieve the inert Pendragon from the line of fire. With the sudden rush of adrenaline and fear, Merlin felt as though he stood in a vacuum, all sound being far-off and muffled, but he swore he had detected the same strange sound from minutes before, only this time it was far more deafening and even closer. What remained in its wake was the unfamiliar screech of tires and the rumble of an engine. Above all else, however, he could pinpoint the telltale sound of heavy breathing, though he wasn't sure if it was his own or his friend's.

"Arthur?" an unnerved voice cried, "are you alright?"

"Yes, Merlin, I'm fine. Let me go," the prince replied, his arms shoving off a countering lanky pair, "What the HELL was that thing? Some form of sorcery? It has to be sorcery. Doesn't it? That's the only explanation. Right?" he looked to Merlin for assurance, to which he received a shaking head in opposition.

"I would have felt it. I told you, the Old Religion is dead, and sorcery along with it. Or at least all forms of sorcery which I know. That's why I can't use my magic here."

"Are you absolutely sure? I mean, if it wasn't sorcery, then what was it?"

"I can't say for certain. Probably just something they have...now."

Arthur looked between his servant and the spot in the road where he was nearly hit, his head snapping from side to side several times before he finally pointed at the street and exclaimed, "I could have been killed by that thing!"

"Good that I grabbed you, then."

"This time period is awful!"

"It's probably not so bad, if you're used t-"

"Oi! You two!"

"Yes?" Merlin countered, his hand holding Arthur back from a confrontation. It took a moment for his eyes to find the man addressing them from behind the blinding torch, but soon enough he could make out the outline of a tall, burly figure, poised in an authoritative stance and clad in a navy blue uniform.

"Have you two been drinking?"

"What makes you think we've been drinking?" Arthur inquired, his chest puffed in defense.

"No," Merlin offered in a more calm and polite response, "we haven't been to the tavern at all."

Arthur went to step forward, but lost his steady footing on a loose and wet stone, tripping. Merlin was quick to catch him, but the slip did not go unnoticed by their arrogant pursuer.

"Right. I'm going to have to ask you boys to come with me back to the station," he stated plainly, moving to direct the two of them.

"Station? What's that?" the prince asked, reluctant but walking with the others nonetheless.

"You must have drank a ton. You're just going to have to stay in the cell until morning. Can't have you getting yourself hurt on my watch, not after I saw you nearly get hit by that car."

"Car? So that's what it's called," Merlin murmured to himself.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Arthur stopped in his tracks and stood tall, "Are you arresting us? You can't arrest me, I'm the prince!"

"Arthur, I don't think you're the prince here anymore," a warning tone advised.

"Of course I'm the prince, don't be ridiculous! And you sir, you'll have to answer to your royalties! H-Hey! Unhand me! You have no right to shackle me! Let us go!"

Wild and belligerent protests became hushed in an instant to the officer by the slam of a door.


	3. Chapter 3

"This is absolute insanity. Putting the prince of Camelot in the cells! Don't they know who I am? Can't they recognize a Pendragon when they see one?" Arthur growled, mostly to himself, though he was vaguely aware of his servant's ear turned toward him, silently listening and observing, "They throw us in that metal, snarling horse-"

"Car."

"It might as well be a horse! And a fast one at that. Are you sure it's not sorcery?"

"I'm pretty sure I would have known if it was sorcery, Arthur," Merlin breathed, his nearly iridescent blue eyes observing the uncomfortably white building they had been forcibly lead in to. Despite the dark outdoors, the inside was lit to the nines with unwavering flames screwed tight into the ceiling. The floor was made of tile, not brick, yet it felt almost impenetrable. An almost mechanical sounding bell rang to his left, and when his eyes traveled to find the source he noticed a woman wearing a similar uniform(and a shirt with cropped sleeves no less- Merlin felt his brow raise with curiosity and his cheeks tint pink) to that of their captor pick up a strangely shaped device and hold it to her face, to which she then engaged in what seemed like a conversation, regardless of the lack of a second party. "We're very far from Camelot, I can tell you that. Farther away than six years would take us," he swept his eyes across the room once more, only for his eyes to return to the direction he was walking in, "much farther."

Arthur lifted his shackled hands to his line of sight, tugging them apart only to have the chain rattle and pull tight, stopping his attempts to break free abruptly. He too circled the room with his eyes, only now they stood in a quiet back room, presumably where they kept wrongdoers, since he could see the cells just past a dividing wall. The sound of music came from behind that same wall, but it was very faint. "It's quite clean in here, I'll give them that. Maybe cleaner than the castle's cells."

Merlin ran his finger along the wall, hardly surprised when it came back free of grime. "Maybe?"

"Okay, so a lot."

"Alright you two," the officer proclaimed. He had been busy filling out paperwork, and now that he had handed it to a younger man behind a wooden desk and had his hands free, he approached the displaced boys and quickly took off their cuffs. "You'll be staying here for the night until you can sober up. They'll let you go in the morning."

With hardly any fight left in either of them, Merlin and Arthur followed the stocky man to the cell area without protest. Each one had, at the least, one other person inside, so they were lead to the furthest one, where a single young man sat in the corner against the wall strumming what looked like a mandore, and what was obviously the source of the music Arthur had heard earlier. Stepping inside, the cell door closed behind them with the clang of metal and a jumble of keys. Their cellmate didn't even raise his head nor hand to greet them, just kept his neck hung and his head swaying to the sound of his own music, his face shrouded by a thicket of unkempt hair. Arthur kept his eyes fixed on the peculiar stranger, watching capable fingers pluck at each string to create a melodic, lilting tune. Merlin, however, seemingly exhausted and uninterested, quickly found his way to the bed against the opposite wall of the player and his own bed, falling upon it with force, apathy, and a grunt of disapproval. He heaved a sigh and flipped to his back, turning his head toward his prince, who remained in the same spot, head cocked to one side.

"Does he even know we're here?"

"Not sure," Arthur murmured in reply, gaze unmoving.

"I know you fellas are here," a foreign voice added. Merlin's line of sight quickly found the figure in the corner, whose head had lifted and bloodshot but warm eyes now shone. "Your friend here just seemed to be pretty absorbed in my music, so I didn't want to kill his vibe, y'know?"

"I don't have a vibe, so how could you kill it?" Arthur blurted, his nose curling half in bewilderment and half in attempt to ward off a pungent, skunk-like aroma which wafted through the air.

"Haha. Sure you got a vibe. Everyone does," the stranger retorted, his lips stretching into a dopey grin.

"Well I don't. I don't even know what a 'vibe'," he exaggerated the word with a gesture, "looks like."

"You can't see a vibe, you feel it. That's all it is. A feeling. Always changing, just like ourselves. It's what you feel right now, I tell you," He was standing by then, instrument clutched in his hand, the other outstretched in a greeting, "They call me Bailey. I dig the get-ups, you fellas look like you just stepped out of antediluvian Europe. You some kind of costumers?"

"You could say that," Merlin muttered before the young prince had the chance to intervene. A cold-eyed look struck him, but he only shrugged nonchalantly.

"So, is that a mandore?" Arthur curiously inquired after shaking their cellmate's hand, his finger pointed at the stringed piece now placed on the bed opposite of Merlin's.

"This beauty? Nah, she's a mandolin. Not even quite sure what a mandore is, honestly. Why, you play?" Asked Bailey, his hand gripping the objects neck to retrieve it.

"I think I can," Arthur murmured, the instrument now in his possession, his burbling blue eyes admiring it with satisfaction,"a friendly troubadour once passed through Camelot when I was a child. I asked my father if I could learn to play his mandore, and he let me. I had one of my own for a while, taught myself mostly after that fellow left. I was on a journey with some knights a few years ago and we got ambushed at camp, ended up having to flee. I couldn't risk the time it would have taken to pick it up," a nostalgic sigh fell over his lips, "Never got a new one."

"You two are really passionate about your whole costume thing, aren't you? Well, go ahead, give 'er a try."

Nodding, Arthur took a seat on the edge of the cot and readied his fingers, each hand easily slipping into place. After a few practice strums in order to acquire the feel of a slightly different instrument, he began to pluck away string by string, producing a mellow melody which seemed to flow from his fingers like fine wine from a cherished goblet. Every satin note lingered, every chord hummed and so did he, the sonorous sound from his throat vibrating as it collided with the music. Merlin found himself sitting upright, his eyes fixated on diligent digits and his hands hard against the slab of cement they called a bed. Bailey grinned brightly, his crooked white teeth beaming with a nearly physical sense of pride. Now and again a note would go awry from unfamiliarity and inexperience, but overall the tune was breathtaking.

Just as the climax of the song approached, every light went out simultaneously. Arthur ceased playing immediately. Merlin hissed a concerned, "what happened?", to which Bailey calmly replied, "it's lights out," and nodded toward the cell door as a stranger in uniform unlocked the bars and wheeled in another cot.

"Sleep tight fellas. And quit with the music, you're giving me a headache," grumbled the intruder as he shuffled out, locking the door behind him.

"I suppose I'm a bit untrained now," Arthur muttered as he placed the stringed piece on the floor, "thanks for letting me play."

"No problem man. Hey, I never got your names. Can hardly be cellmates if we're not friendly, eh?"

"Right. I'm Arthur Pendragon, and that's my wretched manservant Merlin."

Bailey grinned, his head shaking in disbelief as he crawled into his bed. "Well, we should hit the hay I suppose. Goodnight, cellmates."

Merlin had already settled back down on the bed he had chosen, his scratchy wool blanket stretched over his lean body with his feet barely poking out from the other end. Arthur groggily stepped over to the extra cot as if he had been overtaken by a sudden wave of exhaustion and placed a hand on the makeshift bed, pushing on the mattress as if testing its quality. Merlin turned his head toward the prince, eyes bleary already. "Trust me, you'll want that one more than this," he murmured, each word a whisper.

Arthur only huffed in response, sliding into a relatively comfortable position on the cot. Silence washed over the two like familiarity in unwanted company. Someone coughed, but the faint noise was not nearly enough to shatter the anxiously uncomfortable mood that had settled like fog. Merlin swallowed back cotton and muttered lowly, "I thought it was impressive."

"What?"

"Your music. I didn't know you could play an instrument. Never thought you'd be smart enough to learn," Merlin, his grin widening.

"Yea, well, thanks for the thought Merlin but I could use some practice nevertheless," replied the young Pendragon in a short tone while shifting a blanket atop himself.

"I mean it, you prat. Can't your deaf ears hear a compliment once and awhile? I think it was good, really."

"Go to sleep, Merlin."

The sorcerer's nose crinkled in defiance but he turned to his comfortable side anyways, shimmying his head further into the thin pillow beneath him as a yawn erupted from his throat. With his arms crossed over his chest to keep in the heat and his tired eyes slowly blinking, sleep crept up on him at a snail's pace. Over time the darkness grew darker, the sounds more and more muffled, and the rhythmic sound of the prince's unconscious breathing more and more therapeutic. His thoughts retreated deep into the glades of his damp, mossy subconscious. The initial devastation of being utterly stranded still felt fresh and vivid, but now almost manageable as well. He slipped into a dreamless slumber as a cooling obsidian shadow overwhelmed his physical presence and coaxed him toward rest.


	4. Chapter 4

I really apologize for not updating more frequently. It's been difficult trying to keep up with my writing since school has begun again and all, and I'm taking two college classes this year. I will try to still get an update in every month but I can't make any promises.

* * *

The vibrancy of the rising sun over the walls of Camelot, the trees of the bordering forest alive with creatures and plants alike, and the castle glinting with regency and dawn, could nor yet be comparable to that of the blinding coruscation streaming like white rivers from the fluorescent rods radiating down upon the until recently sleeping inmates. On instinct, or rather an internal clock, Merlin had arisen before and was sitting at the edge of his cot in the dark, attempting fruitlessly to conjure any spark of magic he could muster. After an hour had passed and his efforts delivered naught, the lights flicked on, blinding him temporarily and rustling the prince just feet from him.

"Up and at 'em," Merlin muttered to the drowsy prince who was now sitting up on his cot, rubbing a sore spot on his back.

"...Don't...don't do that," Arthur shook his head, brows laced and blue eyes stern, gazing at his fully alert servant, "how long have you been up?"

Merlin simply shrugged, his attention focused on the guard who had come to their cell and unlocked it, throwing the door open. The sudden noise had awoken their still-snoozing cellmate, who peeled himself into a sitting position as if his head weighed a thousand pounds. A drowsy smile graced his lips, and the whites of his eyes seemed brighter regardless of his sleepiness.

"Time for you two to go," the guard instructed, nodding his head toward Merlin and Arthur. Arthur looked relieved, thankful to finally be out of the metal prison. Merlin, however, felt struck with a weariness. They had no idea what the world outside would be like, and were completely unprepared for its challenged. What was more was that he was completely defenseless, entirely unable to conjure even a spark of magic. This left him vulnerable, and without Arthur's royal immunity, any imaginable method of protection was entirely void in their cases. This left him uneasy, cobalt eyes now looking at their cell in a new light, regarding it as a safe haven, despite its constraining environment.

"Oi, hold up man," Bailey called as the pair began to take their leave. Two sets of cool blue eyes turned back to answer the other, but a finger was firmly pointed at Arthur. He looked to Merlin wearily for a moment before stepping back inside the cell. Bailey had stood by then and held his mandolin in a single hand, arm outstretched as if offering the instrument to the former prince.

"I can't take this," Arthur murmured softly, his raised palms speaking of protest but the admiring look in his eyes proclaiming otherwise.

"Sure you can. It's no problem, I've got another few back at my flat. I like your rhythm. Keep playing," he advised, pushing the instrument to Arthur's chest. The prince took it hesitantly, giving him a genuine smile in return.

"Thanks a lot," Arthur managed, awestruck by such generosity and especially coming from someone who was practically a stranger. He held the mandolin tightly at his side, brushing past Merlin to take the lead as they exited.

The main area of the station was far more populated now, and people whizzed about here and there, keeping themselves busy while others sat patiently in chairs. The pair was instructed to sign a few documents dictating their release, and they did so with distracted eyes, fascinated by even such a small glimpse of newly evolved customs, fashions, mannerisms and even technology. A boy not far off leaned against a wall, thumbs tapping on a small box in his hands. An older woman just feet from him held a similar box to her ear, speaking into plain air.

A brisk air met them on the outside. Cars of all shapes and sizes rushed past their spot on the pavement. A particularly large, bright red vehicle zoomed around a corner nearby. Crowds of people sat atop it, far too calm for the situation they were in. Some had large, grotesque black eyes protruding from their faces, their lenses a chilling obsidian. They seemed diligent to their surroundings, as if ready to pounce. Merlin shrank back, perturbed by those nightmarish, bug-like eyes. Arthur laughed when one of them pulled the spectacles away from their face, revealing a pair of normal, human eyes. "You're such a girl, Merlin. Come on," the prince requested, motioning for Merlin to follow him as he began walking.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"We need to find an inn or something. A place to stay. Unless you're privy to sleeping on the streets?" Arthur asked rhetorically, peering over his shoulder at a stern, insulted face.

"No. But I'm a little privy to pushing you into them," Merlin blurted in response, nodding his head toward the busy, populated road beside them, "besides, how are we supposed to pay to stay at an inn? We're strangers here, it's not like they'll offer you up free space for being the prince."

"Looks like you're going to have to get a job then."

"Me?" Merlin questioned, a finger pointing at his chest, "why do I have to?"

All emotion seemed to drain from Arthur's face. He stopped abruptly, moving his servant to the edge of the crowd in one forceful movement, a free hand fisting into the material of his tunic. Scornful eyes dug underneath Merlin's skin, making him antsy and uncomfortable. He tried to move away but felt his body being yanked back. "Listen," Arthur hissed, "I know you didn't mean to, but you got us into this mess. It's going to take a lot of work for you to pay off that debt. Understand?"

He only nodded, relieved when he was let go. Though hesitant to do so, his feet carried him after the prince obediently.

The inn they had found was far more elaborate than anything they could have imagined. The interior was bright, illuminated by polished chandeliers. Leather furniture decorated the lobby, along with detailed paintings hanging on white walls. Arthur briskly approached the glinting walnut counter. A blonde woman in uniform sat behind it, her fingers tapping on a long row of small buttons. "We need a room," he blurted. She looked up at him, plastering on a smile.

"Sure thing. Will that be cash or credit?"

Arthur turned to face Merlin, perplexity on his features. His servant only shrugged, just as confused by the question as he was. He groaned outwardly, turning back around.

"Uh...cash?" he answered, though it sounded as more of a question than a response.

"That'll be 40 pounds for a down payment then. May I have a name?"

Before Arthur could answer, Merlin yanked him away by the back of his tunic. For a moment he said nothing, but the look in his eyes was frantic. "We need to pay now. Look," a thin finger pointed at someone different at the counter who was retrieving a collection of bills from a faded, folding coin purse. He handed it over to the woman behind the counter, who took it gratefully and placed it in a box next to similar looking slips of parchment.

"And what do you suppose we do now?" the prince asked under his breath, his ocean eyes finding another pair in flustered desperation.

"...I don't know," Merlin uttered timidly in response, "I really don't."


End file.
